Stay
by Reichenbach
Summary: Reupload due to posting shenanigans. Takes place directly after Love Never Dies. Raoul and Erik's lives are now intertwined because of Gustave. E/R if you squint.


Leaning against the wooden railing of the boardwalk, Raoul looked out toward the ocean, his gaze falling short of the water. It was fixed firmly on the figure of a small boy, sitting in the sand with his knees pulled up to his chest, staring out at the reflection of Coney Island's lights against the waves. Further down the boardwalk, a dark figure in a mask also leaned against the railing, watching the child.

Raoul couldn't stay there forever. He had to move eventually. He had to talk to Gustave. He didn't know what he'd say… but certainly there had to be something. Even though the child was not his by blood, he had been there for ten years of the boy's life. And he'd failed Gustave. In so many ways. Leaving after the performance without so much as a goodbye was one of them. Not protecting Christine was another.

There was also the matter of wasted years with the boy, when he'd been less than an attentive father. Years spent in the bottom of a bottle. So many regrets, and there was nothing he could take back now. It was done. A love story had become a tragedy even before the bullet that had taken his wife's life had been fired from Meg Giry's gun.

And there, some twenty yards away, was the figure he ought to blame for his wife's death. If he'd had enough energy, he would. Without him, Christine would have sung for Hammerstein. They would have collected their fee and gone home, her soul never reawakened by the ghost that haunted their lives.

Perhaps the masked man had not haunted Christine the way he'd haunted Raoul, he thought, a bitter taste in his mouth at the thought. She probably would have gone back to her angel so many times in the last decade, if given the chance. It wasn't like Raoul had been a model husband. It wasn't like she hadn't had cause to leave. Raoul had probably haunted his wife more than her former lover in the intervening ten years.

And it killed him in so many ways, to know she'd been lovers with that thing-that man standing mere yards from him, equally lost in thought. Before their wedding, she had snuck away and had spent the night with him. Gustave was evidence enough of that. The boy had told Raoul what Christine had said before she'd passed, and he had no reason to doubt her or think her a liar ever, much less there, at the end.

So here he was, a man who had ruined his own life, even if it had been doomed from the beginning. Even if she had loved him more. Him. The monster who haunted his dreams, even still. That face, staring into death with a rope around his neck, watching Christine plead for his life. The first drink had been to calm his nerves. So had the second and third. Then so he could sleep at night. Then so he could function.

The thrill of the gamble further took it from his mind. He needed the jolt that went through him every hand of every card game and every roll of the dice. It cleared his head. It pushed away things he couldn't talk about.

Who was there to confide in? Christine had let go of their ordeal as soon as they were married, it seamed. She'd settled in to being a wife without complaint. Without nightmares, without another word about that night in the monster's lair.

Sometimes, it was all Raoul could think of.

He wanted to blame him for the drinking. For the gambling. For making Christine so miserable. But Raoul couldn't. Holding his dead wife on that dock had brought a type of clarity to him. Ultimately, his actions were his own. His poor choices. Maybe if he would have told her. Not suggested she go back to sleep every time he woke from a nightmare. Maybe if he had dared to ask her if she even thought about that frightening time. If she still thought of it when the chateau was quiet and the lights dim.

"You could go to him."

Raoul nearly jumped out of his skin. When had the Phantom left his spot further down the boardwalk and come here?

"YOU could go to him," Raoul answered, bitterness welling in him. "He is your son."

A flash of a smile tugged at the other man's twisted lips. "I don't know what I'd say to him."

They were silent.

They both watched the child, who had begun to draw in the sand.

"You should go to him," the Phantom said again. "He shouldn't be alone."

Raoul glanced at the man's good side. "Do you even have a name?"

The other man grew thoughtful. "Do I?" He stared up at the heavens, stars barely poking through the ambient light of the island. "I haven't used it in many years. I haven't… needed it. Or wanted it."

"Everyone has a name." This creature was just a man. "All men have names. Tell me yours."

His voice was uncertain as he spoke. "Erik," he whispered.

"Erik. Do you have a surname?" It was a hell of a time to get acquainted.

"If I did, it is long forgotten. Erik was a name given to me by chance. I despise it."

Raoul let out a breath that might have been a laugh, in other circumstances. "So it's easier to be what? Mr. Y? The Angel of Music?"

"Yes."

Silence again.

The ocean rolled upon the sand, then pulled away from it, leaving a trail of foam. Raoul watched it for a bit, looking for answers.

"What do we do with him?" Erik asked finally.

"He chose you. Just as she did."

"Do I look like the type of person who knows what to do with a child?" He held his hands out in front of them, staring at his palms.

Raoul did laugh this time. "All these years I've been frightened of you? And you don't know what to do with a boy."

Erik's head turned slowly to look at the Viscount. "Do you?"

"No. Valid point." He'd always left the child's care to Christine and the governess. And when it came to actually interacting with Gustave, he'd kept his own presence to a minimum, much like his own father. "I wasted so much time," he said to himself, more than his companion.

"We all have." They paused, both lost in their regret.

"Do you think the police will find Ms. Giry?"

The Phantom shook his head. "No. When I ordered them to get help, I knew they would flee. If there is anything Madame Giry is good at, it is looking out for herself and her daughter." But he didn't say it with acrimony. It was simple acceptance of a fact.

No doubt that was how the woman had ended up on American shores. Helping Erik had probably been the best option at the time and she had seized upon it.

Raoul decided to broach a subject that made this whole nightmare too real. "I suppose we should behave like gentlemen and decide upon funeral arrangements."

Erik nodded. "I will not ruin her name."

He would not stop Raoul from burying her in the de Chagny crypt then. Raul inclined his head. "It's for the best."

"Nothing about this situation is 'the best,'" Erik whispered. "If only I hadn't needed to hear her voice one last time."

Raoul hated Erik for giving him an opening to devolve into the grief and rage he thought he had sufficiently swallowed. "Nothing would please me more than to blame you."

"Not even to have your wife back?"

When he spoke, it was louder than Raoul had intended. "Are you a necromancer as well as a magician?"

"Forgive me. I spoke out of turn," Erik said gently.

"No, I-" he stopped. He wasn't going to apologize to this man. This man was why he had lost so much. He found his ability to hate and blame again. "It is your fault, you know."

"I know."

As long as they were clear.

He hated the man for taking so much from him. But it was different this time. This was not the madman from the lair beneath the opera. He was far more controlled. Sedate might have been the word he was looking for. Like the years had burnt out his fire and fury, and the only thing left was a man. A man who had wanted to hear his lover's voice again.

Gustave rose from the beach, looking entirely spent. He dragged his feet through the sand as he walked toward them. Both men stood up straighter, forearms still resting on the rails.

"What do we do now?" Gustave asked when he was closer. "What about Mother?"

Erik looked to Raoul, gesturing for him to answer.

"Arrangements will be made for her to come back to France. She will be interred in the family crypt." He looked from Gustave to Erik, hating what he knew he was going to say next. "If… he will let you come, you should attend the funeral. Then, I suppose, I can say you've gone to live with… a relative. In America. That will account for your absence at home. The last thing we need is the press inquiring too closely." They weren't as… uncouth as the press in America, but the French press could still pry into situations where they were most unwelcome.

Erik nodded once. "Yes. That would work. I could… accompany you to see your mother to rest. If you wish."

Gustave bit his lip and frowned, wanting to say something, but unsure how to approach it. "Then what happens? To me, I mean?" he looked to both men, expectant.

Erik and Raoul looked at each other.

Raoul spoke first. "He's your…" he swallowed. "Father." He implied the boy would go with Erik. It disgusted him, but Christine had made her choice for the child.

Gustave grabbed hold of the railing and pulled himself up, then between the rails. When he stepped onto the planks of the boardwalk, Raoul could see he was covered in sand. The ugly and reactionary part of him wanted to scold the boy. Erik merely reached out and began brushing the tan crystals from the child's clothes without comment.

Before the police had arrived, Erik had knelt, talking to the boy in whispers at length, but when they'd arrived, he told Gustave to wait 'over there,' meaning near the changing tents. Gustave had planted himself in the sand well away from them instead.

Then Erik had spoken to the police, a calm, even tone belying grief. Raoul had openly wept when they put his wife's body on a stretcher and carried her away. Mr. Y, on the other hand, had put in a truly magnificent performance of someone who wanted nothing more than to aid the investigation into the murder of his most heralded performer.

The eccentric showman who always wore a mask had done his best to paint Meg Giry in a decent light. The girl had been suicidal, and the gun had gone off when he'd wrestled her for it. And that may well have been what happened; Raoul hadn't seen it. He'd just heard Erik saying to the police that he hoped they would find her, for her own sake. Raoul wondered if he meant it. Not that it really mattered. If Madame Giry could smuggle an opera ghost into America, she could certainly get her daughter away from Coney Island before the police found them. They would likely not cross paths again.

"There. That looks a little better now," Erik said, finishing his brushing over of the boy. "Do you need sleep?"

It was the middle of the night, of course the child needed sleep, Raoul wanted to say.

Gustave shook his head no. "I don't want to go asleep. When I wake, it will be real."

"Your things are still at the hotel," Raoul said gently. "You can stay there tonight."

Erik looked to Raoul, then the boy. "Er-yes. Tonight. You don't have to sleep. But we can't stay here forever. My peculiarities have kept the gawkers at bay for now, but it won't last forever."

Raoul knew the boy would be asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow. He was already wobbling with exhaustion. Perhaps Erik knew it too, and was simply being kind. Maybe the Phantom did have some idea of how to handle a child.

Gustave looked up to Raoul for permission, a lifetime of conditioning in the gesture.

"Yes. You should get back to the hotel. You don't need to sleep."

Erik gestured, and somewhere, out of the darkness, one of the entertainers that had met them at the docks emerged from the darkness. "Take them to their suite."

"What about you?" Gustave reached out and took his hand. "Don't leave me."

Raoul took a step back. "You go with him. I will find other lodgings."

Erik knelt on one kneel. "Go with him for now. I have something to which I must attend. I will meet you there."

Gustave shook his head no.

Erik paused, then reached behind the boy's ear, plucking away a gold coin in a simple sleight of hand trick. "Flip it. Heads you go back to the hotel, tails, you can come with me."

The boy frowned, but tossed it. He missed catching the flipping coin and it landed on the wooden boardwalk. "Heads," Gustave said as he reached to pick it up.

"When you get in," the Phantom instructed, "order something to be delivered to your rooms. It's late. You haven't eaten. And you're far too skinny." He pinched the boy's arm. "I will see you in an hour." He rose and looked to Raoul. "I will be with him shortly. And then, we have much still to discuss."

Without waiting for a response, he left.

The man known as Squelch held out a hand to the boy. "Shall we be on our way, then?"

Gustave was flipping the coin over and over in his hand, then held it up to Raoul. "They're both heads."

##

The drink was in his hand before he even realized what he was doing.

But he did stop before he consumed it in a single gulp. He stared down at it, asking the amber liquid just what had become of his life. Then he walked to the balcony and dumped it over the edge.

His body told him that he needed his friend now more than ever. His mind knew it was time to quit. Before he lost something else.

As if there were anything else left to lose.

The rest of the alcohol in the suite likewise went over the ledge, his mind vacillating between panic and the irrational notion that he'd never feel ok ever again without it, and resolve to stop drinking. Raoul didn't know how long the resolve would last, or if he'd simply end his days friendless and alone in a gutter. But for tonight he could just… not drink. Just for tonight. Gustave was asleep in the next room, and needed him. At least the boy would until Erik returned.

If the man returned.

Would he simply disappear into the night again?

An hour passed. Raoul sobbed again until his chest hurt from his body's violent quaking. He stood on the balcony, wishing to god he'd not had his 'moment of clarity' and tossed the drink. He watched the people below, until they all blurred together and the powerful urge for alcohol dimmed. Another hour went by.

Raoul had fallen asleep in a chair when the door finally opened. Erik's bare cheek was flush and when he closed the door, Raoul saw the scratched, bruised knuckles on the man's hand. "Rough night?" he asked sarcastically. For now, his own emotional energy was spent.

Smiling tightly, Erik looked down at his fists. "Yes. Quite. You should see the other party."

Raoul sat up straight with that.

Erik held up a hand. "Relax. It wasn't a person."

The man was, after all, a murderer. What was he supposed to think? "Oh thank god." He slumped in his chair. He was leaving Gustave with a murderer. "You said we had more to discuss."

Erik closed the door to the balcony and drew the curtains closed. "Yes. Where to start. The funeral, I suppose."

Raoul scrubbed a hand over his face. "The funeral." It was truly happening. He'd be leaving New York with Christine. Just not the way he wanted. "Gustave will have to attend with me. For appearances' sake."

"Yes."

"Will you be there?" He didn't know why he wanted to know.

"In my way."

"Meaning we won't see you."

"I'm a wanted man in France, sir."

Raoul nodded. His hand reached out to the table beside him for a drink that wasn't there. If prior attempts to stop drinking were any indication, he would feel ill soon. He wondered if he had the wherewithal to endure the coming pains without running to the nearest bar. He had to try, though? Didn't he?

Erik had seen him searching for something that wasn't there. "When did you last… indulge?"

"What?" What business was it of his?

"I've gone off of things far harsher than drink. By the look of you, you want to die by noon tomorrow."

"I'm going to do this," Raoul said with resolve.

Erik flexed his broken knuckles then unfurled his long fingers, attempting to stretch some feeling back into them. "At about half past eleven, do remember we had this conversation. I can help."

Raoul turned in the chair, away from his Phantom. "You would help me?"

Placing a battered hand on the back of the chair, Erik leaned over Raoul. "I am afraid we are… how should I say? Stuck together?"

"Are we?"

"For Gustave's sake. At least for now. Our situations are entwined." Erik stood up straight and let go of the chair. "For now," he reiterated. "Until things are settled. I won't disrupt the boy any more than circumstances already have, and I will not have Christine's name ruined."

Raoul laughed bitterly. "How damned sensible of you."

"I am not a monster."

"You could have fooled me!"

"Shh." Erik held a finger to his lips, looking pointedly at the bedroom door. "I mean-I am not always a monster. I can behave as a man. That's why I am here now. So that this… fricas does not become any more dire than it is, or hard on the boy. And as sniveling and inadequate as I find you to be, I know you desire this too."

Raoul sighed. He'd lost his wife. Twice in one night. Erik had lost his former lover. But Gustave had lost his mother. Anything that happened now had to be for the boy. That much was certain. Somehow, he had to do this. "Fine. After the funeral. Then what?"

Erik froze.

"You don't know, do you?"

"Would I be standing here, if I did? We can't stay there. That much is certain."

"Would you come back here?" He had trouble imagining Gustave an ocean away.

Pausing, Erik collected his thoughts. "I suppose I would," he said with genuine surprise.

He sat forward in his chair, contemplating his lack of options. He had no claim to the boy, after all. He could press the issue. He could claim that it was to protect Christine's name, and the boy's, of course. But would he? He didn't think so. "This has become home, then?"

"Home is hardly the word I would… Maybe it has. In its way."

"That's it, then? The former son of a viscount is to be… a man of the circus?"

Erik walked away from the chair, and began pacing the lounge. "I'll give him what he needs-what he desires, of course. Education-the finest. A home. A proper home. I can do these things." Raoul wasn't sure if the man was talking to him, or himself. "And lessons-oh the music lessons he shall have!"

Of that Raoul had no doubt. "And how will you account for the sudden appearance of a small child?"

Erik turned around. "This place has a short memory. They may be curious at first, but soon it will be as if he were always here." He grew thoughtful. "I must know the other things. Everything about him. What does he like? What does he eat? What does he play with?"

Raoul's lips pressed together and twisted, feeling guilt. "I don't know."

"Why am I not surprised?"

"He likes strawberries. I remember him requesting that. He plays with… I don't know. Whatever's in his nursery." He hadn't even known his own son.

"Useless. That's why I came here. To learn these things. Before he..." Comes with me. That was what hung in the air between them. Neither could believe this was real.

Still, Raoul arched an eyebrow. "It's harder to find out about someone when you can't just slip behind walls and spy on them, isn't it? You could try asking him."

Erik stared at him. Raoul could practically hear the question. Why hadn't Raoul asked these things? Or simply observed. The silence was uncomfortable and long. "I suppose I will have to."

There was a sound behind the bedroom door, something that sounded like a creaking at first, but then became louder and more evident, ending in a moaning sob.

They both moved to the door, then stopped. Looked at each other, then moved again.

Erik got to the door first. He opened it and sat down on the large bed that seemed to swallow up the boy. The room was huge and gilded and opulent and only made Gustave look smaller than he was, by comparison.

He put a bruised and scratched hand on Gustave's head. "I know," he said simply, leaving it at that.

"Why?" the boy asked, lifting his head off the pillow. His cheeks were red and his eyes full of tears..

"There's no reason behind some things. No purpose. A senseless act is just that." His hand slid to the boy's back where he rubbed small circles.

The boy sniffed loudly, trying to hold back more tears and failing. "I wish-I wish Miss Giry would have pushed me into the water instead. Like she was going to."

Raoul came around the other side of the bed and knelt beside it, putting a hand on the boy's head, mere inches from Erik's. "I don't. I'm glad you're here, Gustave."

"Are you?" Gustave asked between sobbs. "Did you love me?"

"Yes. I do. I was a bad father, Gustave. And a bad husband to your mother."

Erik glanced at Raoul, then back to the child. He said nothing, for which Raoul was grateful. It was a confession he'd had to make at least for his own sake. Perhaps one day the boy could forgive him.

Putting his face back into the pillow the boy let out another soul-wrenching cry. After a few more sobs he picked his head up again. "Mother-mother is GONE."

"She is," Erik confirmed in a calm, even tone, which was at odds with the appearance of his battered hands. He must have destroyed something-or many somethings in his grief, then composed himself before coming to their hotel room. "She loved you very much." He swallowed, his hand moving to the boy's lower back. "I-I love you very much."

Raoul didn't have the courage to speak. He had a feeling it wasn't an outpouring of emotion that he was meant to see.

"What about papa?" Gustave asked.

Raoul's hand slid away from the boy's hair. "What do you mean?"

"Will you-will you visit? Will I ever see you again?" He took Erik's free hand and turned himself around, sitting up.

For a moment, he didn't know what to say. He looked to Erik for guidance.

"Papa," the word sounded unnatural on the man's lips, "can visit any time you wish."

"Then I will," he promised.

Gustave gripped Erik's hand tighter, now with both of his. "Can he stay?"

Erik appeared shocked, maybe even scandalized at the question. "Well…" he trailed off.

Raoul looked to Erik again. "Our situations are entwined," he said, repeating Erik's words from earlier.

"Would it make you happy?" Erik asked Gustave.

"Yes."

"Then he can stay."

THE END


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